Rule 42: No one is to speak to the man at the helm
by Celtic Amazon
Summary: This story takes place after the episode "42." What happens between 42 and the appearance of The Family of Blood...  A familiar enemy, A uncommunicative Doctor, and Martha at the end of her wits
1. The Landing

_As if I didn't have enough fandoms to obsess over, now Dr. Who has taken over my brain. This is a Martha & Ten fic. I don't think it's a romantic pairing, but read it how you like. It's also my first attempt at Dr. Who. So... this may or may not go well... I'm at the mercy of the fanfic gods and my muse again._

_Disclaimers etc: _

_The title is taken from Lewis Carroll's The Hunting of The Snark. Rule 42 of the code in the preface is: No one shall speak to the man at the helm. The chapter titles are also all taken from the same poem._

_Lewis Carroll created everything to do with The Hunting of the Snark. The BBC, Russell T Davies and all kinds of other charming Brits own Doctor Who, and I own... my laptop. If you could see it and see that it's actually falling apart as I try to type on it you would know I'm getting no money from this story._

_Oh! Also Martha Jones would know things about medicine, accurate things. I don't. _

CHAPTER 1: THE LANDING

A warm sunny glow was filling the room, gently illuminating the walls, and stirring her from her sleep. Martha sighed, rolled over and finally resigned herself to opening her eyes. She looked blearily around her room, always disoriented by that first moment of realizing there was no window, no curtains that that morning light was filtering in through. The TARDIS created it artificially. It made sense really, the human body needs a certain cycle of light, and it was cheery and warm just like the real thing on a beautiful summer morning, but just like the real thing, sometimes it felt like morning came unreasonably early. She was a little more tired than usual... No, scratch that, completely knackered, but she already caught enough flack for being a "typical human, sleeping away half her life." It was probably just good natured teasing on The Doctor's part, but sometimes even in that she swore she could still hear his only recently abandoned "just one trip" mantra playing in the back of her head. The morning light glinted off of her brand new TARDIS key hanging from her bed post, and with a determined sigh, Martha rolled out of bed and went in search of clothes and a shower.

She found The Doctor a little while later, sitting, sneakered feet propped up on the console. His glasses were perched on his nose and an open book in his lap, but he seemed to be staring off into space.

"Doctor?"

He startled, and Martha frowned. He looked a little paler than usual, and something she would never normally associate with The Doctor: tired. Normally, he could give most hyperactive sugar-loaded ten year olds a run for their money in terms of boundless energy, but today...

"You alright?"

He regarded her for a moment with those fathomless brown eyes, and for a moment, she felt him looking at her; really looking at her, but just as she thought he was about to let his guard down, he abruptly snapped the book he was holding shut and jumped up with his usual maniacal grin decidedly in place.

"Me? Good, good. Yep! " he flicked a couple switches in the console and the TARDIS rumbled almost affectionately at her Timelord, "I'm fine. Always am, me."

It wasn't entirely convincing. The long fingers of his left hand lying on the console, curled loosely around a large green knob were trembling slightly, and she saw his thumb twitch involuntarily in a muscle spasm.

His gaze caught up with hers and he quickly drew his hand back and rubbed it a few times as if trying to work the circulation back into it.

"You sure?" Martha hesitated, "Because... we could take a bit of a break before we go running off-"

"No need!" he cut her off forcefully cheerful, " I'm fit as a fiddle, fine fighting form Doctor Jones. Allons-y!... Unless..." he paused and regarded her gently, "Unless _you _need a break, Martha." He slowed his manic dance around the console to look at her.

"No, I'm fine," she insisted quickly.

Just when she was finally earning his respect she wasn't about to blow it by being the one to slow them down. Giving her the TARDIS key had been a sign that he no longer thought of her as just a passenger. He trusted her. He expected her to keep up with him.

"Alright then," he resumed his flurry of activity, 'I had some time to think about it while you were sleeping and I have the perfect idea for where we should go next!" The Doctor lunged across the console, balancing on one foot and flipped up a series of levers, "I picked this just for you Martha Jones. You'll love it!"

A few rough landings had taught her to hang on tight and Martha gripped the console, feeling the old surge of excitement returning. As soon as they landed, they would open the doors of the TARDIS onto a whole new world, full of amazing sights and sounds she could hardly have imagined before The Doctor seemingly crash landed right in the middle of her routine life, and now this trip he'd said he picked it "just for her". She felt a warm glow of happiness blossom in her at the thought. It was like when they'd visited Shakespeare, only vastly better, because it wasn't just the one trip anymore, she wasn't a tourist or a favour, she was something more, and the TARDIS key swinging from the chain around her neck was solid proof of that.

It was a comparatively smooth landing, and Martha released her grip on the TARDIS console, excited to bound right out the doors and take in the new world.

"So where are we then?"

The Doctor shrugged mischievously, "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you."

Martha rolled her eyes affectionately, earlier worry for The Doctor evaporated. He was fine. Of course he was. He was more than well enough to be playful; to tease her.

"Alright, then..." she made towards the doors of the TARDIS, and paused, "Why are you being so secretive?" Of course she was too delighted to be truly suspicious.

The Doctor's expression shifted a little and he tugged as his earlobe, "Well... the last trip was...a little rough."

They'd almost been burned to death by a living sun; she'd had to put him in a stasis chamber and listen to him scream as she tried to freeze the living sun particles out of him a -200 degrees. "A little rough" was a wee bit of an understatement.

"So I thought we'd go somewhere less hot," he continued, "a little more of a vacation. Fancy a party? Drinks, dancing, high society scandal..."

She arched an eyebrow, "Scandal?"

"Well..." he grinned wider instead of finishing that sentence.

"What kind of high society?"

The Doctor assumed a mock aristocratic bearing and took off his glasses with a goofy flourish to give her the once over, "One you certainly cannot walk amongst dressed like that Miss Jones."

"Oi!" she folded her arms, "And what would you and your superior fashion taste," she glanced pointedly down at the red high-tops peeking out from under his blue suit pants, "suggest I wear then?"

...

As a man who seemingly wore the same two suits in never ending rotation, Martha never would have expected to discover The Doctor owned a closet the size of which would make Kate Moss die of jealousy.

"What is this place?" She asked, fingers skimming over a fringed flapper's dress, a Roman tunic, and a series of other outfits in fabrics she couldn't even begin to name.

"TARDIS wardrobe," he explained as if it was perfectly obvious, "There are just some places and some time periods you can't go running around in as-you-please. Sometimes you need a little-" His voice was lost momentarily as he leaned into one of the jam packed racks and reappeared with a long black cape. 'Here it is!"

It was a beautiful, heavy, fur-lined velvet, very elegant.

"Very Phantom of the Opera," she teased.

From a deep inside pocket, he produced, of all things, a mask. It had been crafted in incredible detail with the features of a fox and a fine gold inlay.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, 'What's it for?"

The Doctor clucked in fake disapproval, "'Told you already, it's a surprise. Now: we just need to find something for you."

Martha eyed the tumult of clothes thrown over the rows upon rows of racks sceptically, "Find something in _that_?"

'What?" The Doctor looked genuinely taken aback for a moment, "It's a perfectly good filing system!"

She continued to look at him incredulously.

"Well... It's pretty good. Well, maybe it could use some reorganizing." He laughed. "Well, alright maybe it's a bit of a mess. But I picked something out for you already."

The Doctor gestured towards a small red door in the wall next to Martha which among all of the clothes and hangers and racks she'd never even noticed. The Doctor continued to beam at her completely pleased with himself and whatever this "surprise" was he was cooking up. The door was a little stiff but she yanked it open and inside was what looked like an old Hollywood dressing room, complete with a full length mirror and a makeup counter. But the thing that caught her eye was the beautiful turquoise gown hanging inside. It was floor length with incredibly intricate gold embroidery and tasteful lace trimming at the sleeves and bust line. On the counter beside it, a beautiful gold and turquoise mask trimmed with peacock feathers lay in wait.

"Meet you back up in the console room!" The Doctor announced cheerfully.

As for Martha, the power of speech had entirely abandoned her. He left her marvelling at the incredible creation, the yards of silk and embroidery and the full, elegant skirts, not to mention the intricately designed mask.

While other little girls on her block had been playing princess and mum to a horde of dolls in prams, little Martha Jones had always been climbing trees and playing super hero, and cops and robbers, or admittedly, on occasion, heart surgeon or brain doctor to her teddy bears. But twenty odd years later, standing in front of the genuine article as far as princess dresses go, Martha found herself breathless. The Doctor wasn't exactly your typical Prince Charming and the TARDIS was a good deal better than a white horse, furthermore, Martha could lay claim to being a good deal sharper than your average Cinderella, but for one night... She stroked her fingers lightly over the luxurious fabric... This was a fantasy she was beginning to think she was more than willing to indulge in.

She half expected to get lost on her way back out of the wardrobe, but she managed to find The Doctor again, sitting, waiting for her. He wore the dramatic cape from earlier, and she noticed, for the first time since she'd met him (excepting the hospital pyjamas) The Doctor was dressed in something other than his usual suits. He wore a black jacket, waistcoat, breeches, and even black boots. The only other hints of colour were the white of the linen shirt he'd changed into peeking above his collar, and of course the gold inlay of the fox mask he clutched in his hand. He looked brilliant. Martha had never been particularly enthused by the swashbuckling romantic look in those cheesy period films her girlfriends seemed to eat up, but seeing it in real life, was another story altogether. Paired with his cheeky grin, she had to admit, the look suited him.

When he caught sight of her his face lit up, "Martha Jones," he breathed, "Has anyone ever told you you're an absolute star?"

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, "Well I don't know if I got everything right... there were a lot of ties and skirts and things..." she muttered trailing off as he swept towards her and gave her a glowing appraisal.

"Looks good to me..." he stepped behind her and she felt his hands at the small of her back, sorting out the laces, "Just a few quick adjustments... Normally you'd have yourself a couple maids for this... There," he smoothed down the silk and stepped back to admire her, "Now you're ready."

He offered her his arm and she laughed when he nearly dragged her down the ramp towards the doors.

"Oh!" Halfway down he paused just long enough to grab a long white cape, thick and fur lined like his own."You'll need this too," he informed her whisking it around her shoulders with a flourish and smoothing it into place.

Then he was towing her along like an eager kid towards the doors again. He threw them open on a snowy medieval looking courtyard, lit by hundreds of tiny festive lanterns.

"Venice. 1775. New Years Eve. There's a famous masquerade ball that goes all night, and well in to tomorrow with food drinks, acrobats, jugglers, and just about anything else you can think of; and we," he smirked, pulling the psychic paper from his pocket, "happen to have an invitation."

The lanterns, the music drifting in from the nearby hall, the soaring arches of the courtyard, the glistening of the fine dusting of snow falling around them, all of it was so beautiful. She threw her arms around him without a second thought, and he laughed as her returned her hug.

"Can I assume you like your surprise?"

...

"The Lord Renard and the Lady Paon."

The steward at the door announced their fake names to the assembled guests and The Doctor led her into the biggest, most expensive ballroom Martha could ever have dreamed to be in existence. High above the marble floor, acrobats balanced on wires and swung from trapezes to the delight of the masked guests. People danced, ate, and drank with merry abandon, and after the last trip in the TARDIS had landed them right in the middle of a crisis, Martha couldn't help but soak in the joy and wonder of it all, of people simply having a good time, and enjoying life. A fire eater performed his act only a few feet away from where she stood, and all over the expansive dance floor, couples twirled together like confetti caught in a high, giddy wind.

"Fancy a dance Miss Jones?"

She had done a little ballroom dancing at her cousins' weddings, nothing spectacular, nothing like this, but The Doctor led her out onto the floor despite her protests and soon they were whirling along with the other couples, laughing at their missteps, adding a few moves here and there that wouldn't be seen for another couple centuries; the fox and the peacock, their alter egos for the night another colourful blur in the pinwheel of revellers.

Eventually, they dragged each other, laughing from the stream of dancers and The Doctor snagged them each a glass of champagne.

".. well when you accidentally did the electric slide into the Duke of Saxmeinegen," she smirked, "I thought we were going to get beheaded or something!"

The Doctor laughed as well , but it soon turned into a coughing fit as if he was short of breath. The concern she'd felt earlier in the TARDIS, the nagging fear she'd felt that something wasn't quite right since The Doctor announced his own clean bill of health after expelling the sun particles from his body; since they'd returned to the TARDIS and he'd been quiet and unwilling to talk about anything relating to the incident on board the ship they'd rescued; since she'd finally given up and gone to bed to leave him to sort through his mood himself... All of her worry came tumbling back.

"Doctor?"

The champagne glass he was holding fell to the floor and smashed and he sought her arm to steady himself against an apparent wave of dizziness.

"The Lord fox has had a bit too much to drink tonight I think," commented a large, round man in a mask shaped like a basset hound and the swans, and butterflies gathered around him twittered and began to whisper.

The Doctor had gotten his breath back, but was still holding onto her arm for dear life.

"Doctor?"

He put more of his quickly sagging wait on her shoulder and leaned down next to her ear mumbling, "Too hot in here..."

Martha scanned the chaos for an exit. An alcove, somewhere to sit him down and check him over properly, and spotted the doors to what looked like a small salon. Determinedly, she braced The Doctor against her and guided them past the fire eaters and dancing couples and tables laden with delicacies. They were nearly at the salon when suddenly, a man in a military looking uniform of the period stepped into their path.

"Excuse me Madame."

He looked to be in his mid forties, blonde, blue eyed, and utterly humourless.

"Those rooms are off limits to guests. Where is it exactly that you and... the gentleman desire to go?"

The Doctor, barely keeping on his feet next to her was obviously not going to be a whole lot of help in this situation.

"We um..." Martha sincerely hoped she wasn't going to somehow breech 18th century court etiquette and get them thrown in prison, "My Lord Renard here... the heat's bothering him. I just need to get him sitting down, and get some water for him."

"Those rooms are off limits," the uniformed man repeated.

Martha tried to take a deep calming breath and quell the urge to hit him. "Sure. I heard. But it's just for a minute and it's the nearest place, so maybe you could bend the rules this once yeah?"

He didn't look like a bend-the-rules kind of guy though and Martha was quickly losing her patience. A scenario in which she picked up the marble bust on the pedestal beside her and pitched it at Mr. "Off-Limits" was quickly forming in her mind, but before she had any time to entertain that notion any further another man in a similar uniform came rushing across the floor.

"Captain! Captain Battista! Quickly!"

The captain was distracted long enough for Martha to slip away again towards the doors to the salon. Quickly, she hauled The Doctor through and shut them behind her, easing him down into a straight backed study chair. They seemed to have stumbled into some kind of library.

"Doctor?"

She carefully removed his mask and grimaced at the pale complexion that was revealed. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat and eyes were glassy and unfocused.

"Doctor..." she prodded gently, "Can you hear me?"

Her fingers found his pulse, far too shallow and quick.

He swallowed thickly, and to her relief managed to focus enough to find her eyes with his own, "Martha."

"What's going on with you?" she demanded noting the still rapid, shallow breaths he was taking.

The Doctor grimaced, "Too hot..."

She frowned, "If you were a human, I'd say you have a slight fever, but since you're you, I'd say it's more than slight yeah?"

He shut his eyes again as if the dim light of the library was bothering him, and a murmured, "Hm," was all the answer she got.

"We should get you out of some of these layers,"' she muttered, not entirely comfortable with the idea of undressing him, but the part of her brain that housed her medical training immediately told her she was being ridiculous, and she set about unbuttoning his coat to which he offered neither help nor resistance. She tossed the coat and waist coat on a nearby table and carefully unlaced his shirt, placing one hand on his exposed chest. The heat radiating off of him wasn't an overly dangerous amount for a normal human, but it was high enough to cause concern when she knew his ideal internal temperature was lower than normal to begin with. She nearly jumped when his hand came to rest over top of hers, his slender fingers hot to the touch.

"You're nice and cool," he muttered.

He didn't open his eyes, didn't look at her and she felt an irrational fear bubble up inside of her. It reminded her too much of being back on The Pentalion, when he'd kept his eyes closed against the raging sun inside of him, trying to burn her through the eyes she normally found so comforting.

"Doctor, look at me."

He didn't respond, simply kept holding her hand against his chest.

She pushed down her fears and reached out her other hand to rest it on his forehead, "Doctor."

His eyes flickered open laboriously slow and she breathed an audible sigh of relief to find his eyes, their usual brown depths and nothing particularly homicidal staring back at her.

"Hullo," he said softly, blinking with considerably more lucidity than only a moment ago, "What're we doing in here?..." he asked finally releasing her.

Martha noticed a flagon on the table nearby and was surprised and grateful to find it full of water, "You were acting like you were going to faint out there," she reminded him, filling a glass and handing it to him.

He took it from her and took a cautious sip. She waited, but he didn't volunteer any more information.

"and then you said you were feeling too hot," she continued, spurred on by her worry and frustration over his general lack of help, "and I thought you were going to pass out right in the middle of this ridiculous ball and I don't know, a bloody trapeze was going to fall on your or something!"

He winced and took another drink, "I'm fine; out of shape. I guess I'm just not used to so much dancing in one night."

This was beyond ridiculous.

" 'Out of shape'? Really? Are you kidding? We spend half of our time running for our lives. I know you're not 'out of shape' Doctor!"

Why wouldn't he just tell her what was wrong? Didn't he trust her? After everything that happened on The Pentallion, still he was trying to shut her out. If those sun particles were still inside him...

"Martha, it's nothing-"

Whatever she would have retorted was cut off by the sound of the entire ballroom erupting into screams outside.

...

_The fact that you're reading this means you read my story, so thanks! I'd like to write more but we'll see where my muse takes me. Reviews make her happy and strong, so please R&R if you want to see more._

_-Amazon _


	2. The Bellman's Speech

_This is the second chapter, with more in the works. My DW muse comes and goes but I always like when she pays me a visit. Hopefully, this chapter has some gems in store!_

_Disclaimer: When I finish building my TARDIS I'll go back in time and create Doctor Who first and own the whole shebang. Until then, I own nothing and make no profit, but have a damn good time playing with other people's pretties anyway._

THE BELLMAN'S SPEECH

Pop quiz: The room adjacent to you erupts into screaming panic do you... A) call for help B) Stay clear of what is obviously a dangerous situation or C) Run directly towards said danger in order to find out what it is

Martha knew the answer to this one even before The Doctor leapt up in miraculous spontaneous recovery mode, and she followed him to the door, which he proceeded to fling open without a speck of caution. At the far end of the ballroom, closest to the main entrance, people were panicking, trying to flee further into the room, away from something, at the door, she couldn't make out. The fleeing crowd was bottlenecking as half of it seemed to be fleeing inside and another panicked half, seemingly hearing the screams, but not able to see what the danger was exactly, was trying to get out of the ballroom. In the centre of the room, men in soldier's uniforms, including the Captain from earlier with the considerably sized stick up his arse, were desperately trying to calm the frightened crowd and shout to their comrades stationed by the door over the commotion.

"Is this supposed to be happening? Historically speaking I mean?" Martha asked as she jogged to keep up with The Doctor's long strides as he crosses the ballroom towards the very thick of things.

'Nope! Venice is supposed to be ringing in The New Year in relative peace... right about...Now. Happy New Year, Martha Jones!" He spared her a mad grin as they skidded to a halt beside the soldiers, who had now succeeded in creating a bit of a wedge in the crowd and establishing some semblance of order. "Right." The Doctor produced the psychic paper from somewhere entirely mysterious to Martha as he'd left his jacket in the library. "What seems to be going on here?" He demanded of The Captain, as he simultaneously flourished his latest credentials and followed hard on the man's heels as he forced his way through the crowd, who appeared to be more shocked and frightened now than in full-on panic mode.

The captain paused to eye the psychic paper sceptically "The Parisian Gendarmerie... You're well out of your jurisdiction Monsieur."

"Parisian?..." The Doctor frowned at the psychic paper, "Well," not to be put off so easily, he kept up his pursuit, forcing Martha to hurry along after, gathering her skirts, "It's never stopped me before, so, let's work together then shall we, Captain; you are a captain aren't you? Nice insignia by the way. I like the epaulets; very dashing. What did you say your name was?"

The man wavered for a second then gave in "Battista. Captain Battista," he supplied shortly.

"Battista. Excellent. I'm The Doctor." The Doctor reached back and found Martha's hand, pulling her forward through the press of bodies, the remainder of the soldiers were still trying to herd out of the area. "This is my colleague, Doctor Jones."

Battista spared Martha an even more sceptical glance before shouting at his men, "You men: Rosano, Mezzanote, get these people clear! Who was posted at the doors? Lupino!"

Lupino, a guard, though not much more than a boy really, scurried forward and gave Battista a shaky salute. There was a nasty looking gash on his forehead, but the bleeding had stopped.

"Report!" The Captain barked

"S-sir," Lupino stammered, "I was helping Monsieur De-la-croix into his coach when three men appeared and... and apprehended the Marquis."

"What do you mean apprehended?" Battista demanded.

"They took him sir!"

"In another coach?"

"No they... it..." the boy looked from his captain to other guards, helplessly.

"Speak soldier!" Battista ordered.

The Doctor stepped forward, ignoring the blustering Captain, "It's alright, just tell us what you saw."

"I..." Lupino gulped, "He vanished, sir. The three masked men, and the Marquis De-la-Croix, they vanished into thin air as if by magic!"

"Nonsense!" Battista growled, "Men do not simply vanish. This is not a fairly tale. I need useful information!"

The Doctor put a hand on Lupino's trembling shoulder and turned to face the seething Captain, "Well, actually if you think about it that _is _quite useful, since there aren't a whole lot of people capable of _vanishing_ a Marquis out from under the noses of The City Guard, right outside a very crowded party."

"Who else had the post closest to this door?" Battista demanded, "Farranaccio? Did you or your men see what happened to the Marquis?

A more seasoned looking soldier stepped forward, "Sir, we weren't aware there was any problem until we heard Lupino cry out, and by that time the Marquis and the assailants were gone."

Battista swore under his breath and ordered the doors closed and the rest of the partygoers sent home via the other palace doors. "But surely someone saw something!"

"Actually yes..." Lupino piped up and everyone turned once again to look at the young guardsman, "There was a man, a guest of The Marquis. He saw the three masked attackers as well."

"And where's he?" Martha asked, having to shoulder her way into the conversation.

There was a moment of silence as the assembled guards stared at her.

Ah, right. Eighteenth Century Europe. So no surprise there that she'd been completely ignored up to this point by the men. And did she have her gender or her skin colour to thank for that? She wondered wryly.

"Gentleman," Battista, cleared his throat, "we are joined by two members of the Paris Gendarmerie, both doctors as I am told."

"Hullo, I'm The Doctor," The Docotor supplied cheerfully.

He looked at Martha happily expectant.

"Uh... Martha Jones. Doctor Jones," she introduced herself warily.

"You're a doctor?" Lupino asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

"Yeah, I studied at um... a special college... in England."

She looked at The Doctor who continued to smile at her innocently. Obviously he was greatly enjoying watching her try to integrate herself into 18th century history.

"Right." Battista barked, rallying his men back to the task at hand.

Apparently, her explanation made sense.

"Sir, there is something else," Faranaccio, the more seasoned guard added, there is a body sir. It was found in a flower bed after the Marquis disappeared, by the Lady Riccio, as she came out to hail her coachman. "

"A body?" Battista demanded icily, "Someone was murdered on palace grounds and you did not think it important to mention until now? Who was killed?"

"It was only a gardener, Sir," Faranaccio muttered, "but some of the other guests saw the corpse as well and it was part of what sparked the panic."

"Only a gardener?" Martha felt her blood boil, "We're talking about a human being here, not some piece of lawn furniture!"

"Killed by Lupino's magical masked assailants no doubt," Battista grumbled ignoring her. "It seems we will need to talk to our only other live witness aside from young Lupino. Where is he being held, Faranaccio?"

Needless to say, being ignored at this point didn't sit well with Martha, "Excuse me. But this 'just a gardener' was a person, with a family, with a name, and he was murdered on your watch, when you're supposed to be keeping people safe!"

She glanced at The Doctor, wondering full well why he was letting such stupid callous classism slide, and noticed he once again looked more than a little unwell, and was leaning against a pillar for support. He waved off her look, as if to say she was handling herself just fine.

"The gardener was not a foreign dignitary whose family will cause a diplomatic nightmare for the state if I do not recover him, Miss Jones," Battista informed her coldly.

This was going nowhere. The pigheaded Captain obviously had his priorities.

"Fine. But we need to see the body anyway," she told him, not allowing herself to be intimidated, "to do a proper autopsy."

_Did they have autopsies in 18__th__ century Venice?_ Either way, it made sense and sounded like something The Doctor would want to do. Speaking of which...

He'd righted himself and was speaking to Faranaccio, who was leading the way towards wherever they'd hidden the poor unlucky gardener's body from the party guests.

They turned a corner and followed a path to a plain stone outbuilding, where two more city guards were posted outside, who saluted and allowed The Captain, Martha, The Doctor, and Farranaccio to enter. Inside, the building appeared to be the former gardener's cottage. The body was laid out on a wooden table covered by a cloak, and another man sat by the small hearth with his back turned to them. When they entered though, he turned around and stood up with a bow. He looked about fifty, dressed for the masquerade, in a dusky blue coat and breeches, and he held a beautiful silver mask in one hand. His greying dark hair was swept back from his handsome face, and he bowed again in Martha's direction.

"Gentleman. My Lady. How can I be of service on this sombre occasion?"

The Doctor came to stand at Martha's elbow, "Hope so; apparently, you saw something along the lines of vanishing masked men attack a Marquis tonight."

"Masked men, yes," the man agreed, "the same ones who killed this poor soul too I think," he added, indicating the gardener's body.

"You saw them attack him too?" The Doctor asked.

"No," the man amended, but his injuries... they bring to mind the weapons those men were carrying."

Battista frowned, "What did you say your name was Signor?"

The man sized up Battista for a moment then smiled politely, "Signor Giacomo Cassanova Chevalier de Seingalt."

"Cassanova?" Martha and The Doctor exclaimed together.

"Yes," Cassanova, _the_ Cassanova chuckled. "You've heard of me then?"

Battista looked pointedly unimpressed.

"Oh yes, big fan of yours," The Doctor grinned and shook his hand. "You're a legend! I'm The Doctor by the way."

"A pleasure," Cassanova assured him laughing, "and your wife?" he asked indicating Martha.

"No," Martha stepped forward and Cassanova, _the_ Cassanova took her hand and kissed it. "I um..." speech, to her embarrassment was deserting her. Apparently Cassanova's legendary charm wasn't only the stuff of legend and hadn't dulled any with age! And those eyes... "Martha. Um, Doctor Martha Jones."

"A woman of science," Cassanova kissed her hand again and released it to bow, "An honour and a pleasure."

"Yes," Battista cut in, "We're all very pleased to make each other's acquaintances Signor Cassanova. These doctors are of the Paris Gendarmerie and I am Captain Battista of the Venice City Guard. Tell us what you saw tonight sir and then you can be on your way."

"Yes of course Captain," Cassanova agreed smoothly, "I was bidding the Marquis goodnight when suddenly three masked men approached seemingly out of nowhere and attempted to grab hold of him."

"What did they look like?" The Doctor asked eagerly, his curiosity more than allowing him to be oblivious to the way Battista glared at him, obviously used to being the one that asked the questions.

"They were very strange..." answered Cassanova thoughtfully.

"Strange how?" Battista demanded.

Cassanova looked from Battista back to The Doctor and shook his head, "They walked with an incredibly stiff gate, and when they spoke... it sounded...dull and lifeless."

"Yes, but what did they look like?" Battista insisted.

"Like revellers, Sir. They were masked," Cassanova reminded him.

"Like revellers but strange," The Doctor pressed.

"Yes," Cassanova agreed, "And the strangest thing... I swear to you... there was the most bizarre mechanical sound... about them, like... like the sound of a great clock."

"How enlightening. You are almost as useful a witness as young Lupino," Battista deadpanned.

"A clock? Are you sure?" The Doctor asked, ignoring the sceptical Captain.

"Yes," Cassanova nodded, "As I live and breathe."

"And they didn't try to take you?" The Doctor asked.

"No..." Cassanova frowned, "They were intent on The Marquis. I tried to help the young guard who was injured and then they vanished suddenly along with the Marquis, as if into thin air."

The Doctor glanced at the body lying on the table, "You said they used a weapon..."

"Yes," Cassanova shuddered, "A strange rounded blade."

The Doctor made for the body and pulled back the sheet to reveal a man in his early fifties, with a large deliberate slash down his chest.

"It looks like... like surgery, like a circular saw. " Martha turned to The Doctor, "How's that possible?"

"and I'll bet you anything..." The Doctor reached across the table and selected a flat metal gardening tool and carefully widened the incision, "There's a missing part to go with it."

Martha did her own inspection and found that the man's heart was in fact gone. Cassanova took the opportunity to inspect the fireplace a little closer, apparently not a fan of autopsies.

"You've seen this before?" She whispered.

"Yeah," The Doctor murmured, "just once."

"How did you know his heart would be missing?" Battista demanded, not having shied away in the least.

"Lucky guess," The Doctor covered the body once more and covertly slipped Martha the bottled sanitizer for her hands they'd picked up on a recent trip to Falcore 3, for which she was very thankful.

"You expect me to believe that?" Battista asked icily.

"Well," The Doctor shrugged for emphasis, "Like you said, Venice isn't really our jurisdiction and it was absolutely smashing to meet you Captain. Love the epaulets. Did I say that already? But Miss Jones and I really must be going."

Martha shot him a confused look, but followed him to the door.

"And Cassanova!" The Doctor grinned, "Brilliant. Just brilliant."

And with that they were outside.

Martha once again found herself jogging to keep up with The Doctor's long strides.

"Doctor? Where are we going? What are these bloody things stealing people's- ... hearts and abducting people? Doctor!"

He finally stopped once they were in a second smaller courtyard.

"Why did we just run out of there?"

He turned to face her standing in the courtyard in nothing but his linen shirt and breeches. She shivered involuntarily, she at least had been leant a cloak by one of the guardsmen.

"Doctor?"

"Because The Captain, good as he apparently is at barking orders and looking official with his rapier and his really dashing epaulets isn't going to be of much use to us. And..."

"And what?"

"I knew _this_ was about to happen."

And with that statement, The Doctor abruptly crumpled unconscious to the snowy ground.

"Doctor!"

Martha rushed to his side and rolled him over.

"You idiot..." she breathed searching for the double thrum of his pulse and finding it a little shallow and racy, but still beating. His skin was still hot to the touch, but she very much doubted lying about in the snow was good for him anyway.

"Doctor..." she tapped his cheek and shook him, "Doctor... come on... this isn't a good place for this."

"Miss Jones?"

She looked up startled to see Cassanova standing over her.

"Miss Jones, what happened?" he asked worriedly as he unclasped his cloak, "Here."

Together they managed to get The Doctor sitting upright supported against Martha, Cassanova's cloak wrapped around him.

"He's... he's been feeling poorly," she explained.

'_He was recently possessed by a living sun and nearly died'_ being too much information under the circumstances.

The Doctor chose that moment to come to with a faint groan.

"...oh... wow... let's not do that again..."

"Doctor?"

He blinked up at Martha, "What happened?"

"You fainted," she accused him.

"Really, more like an unscheduled nap," he winced, gingerly making it to his feet with her help. "Ah, Cassanova, I was hoping we'd run into you again," he added, handing back the man's cloak.

Cassanova took it reluctantly, "Are you alright Doctor?"

"Me? Yup." The Doctor nodded, though with a little less of his usual vigour, "Corset's a little too tight maybe."

"Perhaps." Cassanova chuckled then grew serious, "But I was actually hoping to speak with you Doctor, and Miss Jones as well. I fear there is more to this story than what I told Captain Battista."

"Cassanova, you sly dog." The Doctor grinned, "Brilliant. Let's get somewhere out of the cold then and talk."

"There's a tavern near the canal, The Adonis. Do you know it?"

The Doctor nodded, "The Adonis, yes. Terrific little place, man who owns it is Turkish. Excellent meat pies."

"Yes that's it," Cassanova agreed, "I have other business for the moment, but If you are willing and able, I should like to meet you there in one hour, and tell you what I have been hearing about some very similar occurrences on the less fortunate side of town."

"We'll be there."

"Goodnight then, Doctor. Miss Jones." Cassanova bowed, and left them alone.

The Doctor shook his head, "Cassanova. What do you know, you crash one little Venetian party and-" He stopped at the expression on Martha's face. "What?..."

"You have a lot of explaining to do mister," she informed him. His bouncing back tricks were all well and good when she wasn't worrying he'd fall flat on his face again shortly after. In this case it was wearing on her patience, "You obviously know something about all of this heart stealing, people abducting... people that act like robots and sound like... clocks business. And you're going to explain that. But first you're going to explain one other thing," She informed him.

She was standing in the snow in a gigantic dress, freezing and scared for him and she wasn't taking no for an answer.

"There's been something wrong with you since The Pentalion, I need you to tell me the truth. I deserve that much."

The Doctor wrapped his arms around himself and looked at her long and thoughtfully before seemingly giving in, "Things like this, they usually pass out of my system on their own."

"Go on..."

"You remember the X-ray machine at the hospital. When I absorbed the radiation?"

She can't help the smile that comes to her face every time she thinks about that first fateful meeting, "You got rid of it by putting it in your shoe, that's kind of hard to forget."

"Right." The Doctor rubbed his cold hands together, "Well, on The Pentalion, there was... well when I absorbed the living sun particles..." She didn't miss the slight shudder that ran through him.

Her eyes went wide in alarm, "Doctor..."

"The sun, the entity, the main thing of it is gone," he assured her quickly, "I'm me."

Relieved at least on that very important score, Martha nodded, "But there's still something wrong."

"Well... sort of... yes." He didn't meet her eyes."There may still be some radiation in my cells I can't quite seem to get rid of."

"May be?"

"Well..." He caved under her worried gaze, "More like there is. Definitely. So all my systems are a bit..." he waved his hand vaguely in lieu of any technical terms, "My body's basically on the fritz as it's trying to neutralize it. But there's a lot of it, more than I've ever handled before... well...successfully."

"Okay..." Martha processed what he'd just told her. Radiation was trapped inside his body, a lot of it, and it was making him sick. She pushed down her fear and tried to project the calm capability of an expert doctor and friend, "What do you need?" she asked reaching for his hand.

"Like I said," he reminded her, avoiding the contact "This sort of thing clears up on its own."

That stung.

"And if it doesn't?"

He shrugged a little too flippantly for her liking, "we can cross that bridge when we come to it," he told her, turning and heading in the direction of what she assumed was the TARDIS.

Inscrutable. He was an absolute stone wall sometimes, and it was never more frustrating then when she genuinely tried to help and he closed himself off as though it was easy for her to keep reaching out to him, offering her friendship, her care, her concern, and to have that brushed aside.

"Doctor!" she called after him, "Wait!"

He stopped and turned to look at her.

Martha took in a deep lungful of frigid air, afraid to push the matter and have him pull even further away, but more afraid of letting anything happen to him and knowing she should have pushed anyway."You... you're telling me the whole truth, yeah?"

He frowned.

" I mean, I can handle it, you know. We're in this together." she pressed on determined, "Because when you say you're fine-"

"I'm fine, Martha," he cut her off impatiently.

It wasn't a reassurance; it wasn't a light brush off. He meant that this subject was as good as closed. Once again he'd slammed the door firmly in her face.

Martha pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders and put on a brave face, the only option left available to her.

"Right."

She followed him in resigned silence, folding her hands inside her sleeves, as a chilly wind kicked up the snow lying about the courtyard. She noticed they weren't heading in the direction of the TARDIS _anymore._

_...  
><em>

_That's all for now folks! Thanks for reading and hope you're enjoying this fic. If it strikes your fancy leave a review. It always tickles my muse pink! _


	3. The Baker's Tale

_More Doctor, more Martha, more adventure. Seems like a good use of a Friday afternoon doesn't it?_

_Disclaimer: If I own The Doctor or the TARDIS or profit from any of this, then I'm the queen of England. Or The Pope... (Either one. Both have fantastically questionable hat choices)_

**THE BAKER'S TALE**

The quiet, rhythmic dip and swish of the oar in the canal was the only sound to break the silence that hung heavy not only over Venice, but over Martha and The Doctor as well. Neither had said more than two words since they'd left the courtyard, and hired the first gondola out on the partially iced-over canals. Martha was still quietly angry, frustrated and hurt by The Doctor's unwillingness to confide in her, and the Time Lord was... well, whatever he was when he wasn't rhyming off every fact stored in his head, or nattering on excitedly over something or other.

Grey faced stone buildings and faded pastel walls glided by, as the arches of bridges sailed overhead at intervals. The waters of the canal beneath them were still dark as ink, as the sun hadn't made its first appearance of the day. The TARDIS would have been a faster way to get to the inn for their meeting with Cassanova, but Martha couldn't help but appreciate the eerily beautiful gondola ride through the sleeping city. She watched another incredible series of arches pass by on her right and sighed at the noticeable absence of The Doctor pointing out every last historical site, which usually had the effect of making her feel simultaneously, as if he was laying out the whole universe before them just for her, and rolling her eyes like an indignant high school student on a fieldtrip so he wouldn't know that. His silence was having neither effect, and she snuck another glance at him perched by the bow of the boat, also watching the architecture wing by. To an outside eye, he looked alert, light on his feet, and strangely unaffected by the winter weather despite, being in nothing but his shirt sleeves. But to someone who'd travelled with him and watched him in action enough to know, he looked worn out.

He noticed her watching him and cleared his throat, "We're almost there."

There was the barest hint of apology in his tone, though it was pretty pathetic as far as peace offerings went.

She nodded and pulled her knees in closer under her cloak.

"Cold?" he asked.

Martha nodded, "A little... Aren't you?"

"Nope," The Doctor answered with a ghost of his usual cheeky grin, "Superior Time Lord biology."

A subject Martha was steadily wishing she was better versed in, as her clinically trained eye wouldn't stop pointing out his pallor or the shallowness of his breathing. Her hands were near enough itching to reach over and gauge his temperature, check his pulse; whip out a stethoscope and tie him down if that's what it took.

'We're here."

The Doctor's pronouncement broke in on her line of thought, as the gondola skimmed to a silent stop. The Doctor, of course, not weighed down by an army of skirts, leaped onto the dock all gangly limbs and surprising grace, while Martha gathered her dress and did her best to maneuver out of the boat without toppling into the canal. She very nearly did just that, but The Doctor reached out and took her arm, steadying her, hoisting her up until her feet were firmly beneath her. Just the touch of his hand on her arm radiated unhealthy heat, and Martha grudgingly bit her tongue. He claimed he was 'fine.' _So let him sort himself out_. _He must've picked up something about caring for himself in the last nine-hundered-ish years_, she tried to reassure herself, as she watched him stride enthusiastically ahead towards the tavern.

Then again, in the relatively short time she'd known him, The Doctor had let a crazy vampire lady suck out his blood until his hearts stopped, had one of them stopped again by an Elizabethan witch, been struck by lightning, and had his body and mind invaded by a homicidal living sun; which now left him in his present state: sick with radiation poisoning.

"Doctor! Wait for me!"

The Adonis wasn't an overly big establishment, or all that fancy, especially in comparison with the palace the night before. Actually, Martha felt a little overdressed in her ball gown, even covered as it was by the plain cloak she'd been lent by one of the palace guards. At this early hour, the only patrons besides themselves were the ones who were still drunk from the night before; three or four of them were slumped over at wooden tables, snoring and drooling their way towards king-sized morning hangovers. A little ways back in a corner by the fireplace, they finally spotted Casanova.

"Doctors," the man bowed graciously and motioned for The Doctor to sit, before pulling out Martha's chair for her.

"Thanks," she muttered feeling a blush creep into her cheeks. It was stupid, and he was almost fifty. But... god, was he charming!

"Thank you for coming," Casanova said, offering them the platter of bread and cheese set on the table. "I wasn't sure you would."

"Well," The Doctor took a big bite of cheese and chewed enthusiastically, "mysterious disappearances and clandestine meetings. What's not to like?"

"Yes," Casanova agreed a little more grimly, "And I'm afraid the disappearance of The Marquis last night is not the first, but perhaps the tenth or twelfth in a string of such occurrences this month alone."

"There've been other disappearances?"

Casanova nodded in answer to Martha's question, "Yes, and murders as well, similar to the fate of the unfortunate palace gardener, although, taking place in a less... prestigious part of the city."

The Doctor, whose appetite seemed never to be truly spoiled by anything in the universe, munched thoughtfully on a piece of baguette, "Missing body parts?"

"Kidneys, hearts, eyes... a brain in one case," Casanova confirmed.

"But some people vanished altogether?" The Doctor asked.

"Without a trace." Casanova paused and looked about the tiny tavern warily, "And now I am thinking last night's masquerade men with the stiff manners, if they can even be called men at all, must have something to do with the entire affair."

The Doctor looked lost in thought (either that or the tabletop. Ideally, not another fainting spell...) so Martha ploughed ahead, "Have there been any strange lights? Things in the sky? Anything like that since this all started or before it started?"

Casanova frowned and The Doctor looked up at Martha with undisguised pride. By now, she was getting excessively used to that being one of the first questions they asked witnesses who weren't familiar with the idea of spaceships. But it still gave her a warm tingle; that look in his eyes directed at her.

"I don't know," Casanova answered carefully at last, "But I have been out in the country most of the winter, and have only heard about these disappearances in the last few days. There is likely information which I don't have."

They were interrupted by a large, round man in a spotted apron bringing them a tray of hot cider.

"Here you are Signor Casanova," the man set down the tray, but seemed to hesitate.

"Gianni here," Casanova said lowering his voice, is well acquainted with these troubles."

Gianni wiped his floury hands on his apron nervously, "Are these the Paris police you spoke of?"

"In a manner of speaking," The Doctor piped up. "I'm The Doctor, this is Doctor Jones."

"My..." Gianni's voice trembled, "My wife was one of the first victims. They found her body in an alley with her eyes and ears missing. Such cruelty... She was well known in our part of town for always being the first to see things and hear the latest news and gossip in the square. What kind of sick, cruel person would make such a statement with her death?"

"I'm so sorry," The Doctor murmured his heartfelt condolences, "But Gianni, I have to ask, have you heard any rumour of people seeing strange lights or anything like that in the sky lately?"

The large man's brow furrowed in confusion, "There was one night, I was late coming home and I saw something... it must have been a shooting star... I don't know- What does this have to do with people getting murdered?"

"Probably nothing," The Doctor lied, giving Martha a pointed look. _Probably everything_.

They thanked him for his help, and the grieving baker went back to his work preparing bread and food for the day. Casanova drained the last of his cider.

"So?" He asked them, "Will the Paris Gendarmerie take the case?"

"Well..." The Doctor stood up from the table, "Maybe on a more pro-bono basis. Martha? I'm going to take a minute to talk to my colleague if it's alright with you, Signor Casanova."

He led her to an empty table and lowered his voice.

"I think I know what we're dealing with here; if I do, then I've dealt with them before and they're not the nicest bunch, but they're definitely among the thickest thick,thick,thickety thickfaces you can have to deal with; which is good. But less good," he rambled on heedless of the fact he wasn't making any sense whatsoever to her, "would be that some of this doesn't add up, and the aforementioned thick thick thickety thickfaces should be completely shut down, what with that time window to the SS Madame de Pompadour having been disconnected... How are they back online? Why are some of the victims disappearing altogether? What are they trying to repair? So much of this just doesn't make sense, Rose. I mean- "

"Martha."

"...What?"

Martha did her best to tamp down the rise of feelings that particular mis-step provoked.

"My name's _Martha_, Doctor." She reminded him quietly.

He blinked at her genuinely confused, and the glassiness creeping over his eyes did little to reassure her.

"I... I know that," he muttered.

"But you just called me _Rose_," she pointed out as gently as possible.

"I... um..." he was looking decidedly grey and the way he swallowed thickly, gave her a good idea what was about to happen next. " I need air..."

She dashed outside the tavern after him in time to see him lean shakily against the side of the building and rehash his breakfast quite colourfully in the snow.

Martha grimaced and dug in the pockets of her borrowed cloak, blessedly coming up with a clean handkerchief, which she handed the trembling Time Lord once he had finished. The Doctor accepted it from her gratefully and wiped his mouth. Martha laid a steadying hand on his back and waited for him to get his breathing under control.

"... ugh," he complained after a moment, "... hate being sick."

He was still leaning heavily on the brick wall beside him for support, and Martha could feel enough heat coming off of him from where her hand rested on his back to make her seriously consider dragging him back to the TARDIS kicking and screaming if need be. Superior Time Lord biology, her well-educated arse: he didn't need a cloak because he was running a championship fever.

"Doctor..." she ventured, hoping against a repeat performance of being mistaken for Rose again, "Maybe you should sit down."

He gave a soft, helpless chuckle, eyes still squeezed tightly shut, "...mm. Yeah..."

"Or," Martha hesitated, "Maybe we should go back to the TARDIS."

He didn't answer right away and Martha wondered if he was still with her.

'Doctor?"

A high pitched scream pierced the frosty Venice morning and The Doctor's hunched form shot instantly upright, as though a switch had been flipped. _Zero to hero just like that._ It was all Martha had time to think before she was forced to grab fistfuls of skirt and sprint after him, as the Time Lord took off in the direction of the cry for help.

Whatever these historically accurate shoes were she was wearing, Martha was beginning to get the impression they weren't designed for running, let alone running over ice. She skidded unexpectedly rounding the corner of a grey brick building and spilled sideways into a snow bank with a yelp.

Her skirts and cloak formed an evil conspiracy to get soaked and tangled around her legs, but she found her feet anyway in time to see The Doctor standing in front of a large set of cast iron doors, desperately fiddling with the sonic screwdriver. A second later, Casanova rounded the same corner( crossing the same patch of ice that dumped her so unceremoniously) without being pitched arse over tea kettle, and Martha made a quick mental note to get herself a pair of whatever kind of footwear the men of this period got.

"Miss Jones?"

"I'm fine," she waved him off and dashed over to The Doctor, who was squinting at the settings on his beloved sonic screwdriver.

_Blurry vision, add it to his list of symptoms_, Martha's inner doctor intoned, as she grabbed it from him and cranked it up a couple of settings. She aimed it at the door and pushed the button, and prayed she hasn't just set it to blow up the whole city block or something equally unhelpful.

The Doors in front of her flew open; right off their hinges.

"Uh... sorry." She handed The Doctor back his sonic screwdriver a little sheepishly and thought for a second he was actually going to stop in the middle of all this to give her a lecture on proper care and maintenance of a sonic device, but thankfully Casanova caught up to them and another scream from inside the brewery they'd just broken into spurred all three of them into action.

Inside, a well-dressed young woman was backed up against a large copper vat. Surrounding her were what looked like four men dressed in white porcelain masks, and the fancy wigs and coats of the period. But each of the 'men' had a small circular saw coming out of his wrist. They were advancing slowly, with stiff, menacing steps towards the terrified woman.

"Francesca!" Casanova cried and the young woman sobbed with relief when she spotted him.

"Giacomo! Please help me!"

"Friend of yours?" The Doctor asked, puting out a hand to stop Casanova.

Instead, he aimed the sonic screwdriver at a metal container hanging from chains directly above the men's head. The container tipped and gallons of beer rained down on them. The attackers jerked and shuddered and ground to a stop.

"Well, It's no Multi-Grade Anti-Oil," The Doctor muttered to himself, "But it'll do."

With that he strode forward and Francesca ran tearfully into Casanova's arms. Martha followed The Doctor towards the masked men who were standing like rusted over statues. He reached out and pulled the wig and mask off one of them to reveal a strange sort of clear glass head full of an intricate system of gears and metal bits like the inside of an old pocket watch.

"Okay," Martha breathed, "So not human then. Robots?"

'Androids," The Doctor corrected, pulling out his glasses from-

Well, she really had no idea how he was carrying all of this stuff at this point.

"They look a bit..." Martha frowned, "Old fashioned? Not that I'm much of a robot- _android_ specialist or anything, but why are they so...Jules Verne?"

The Doctor cracked an amused grin, "They're clockwork droids," he explained putting on his glasses, "in case their ship- Ow. Oh wow..." he yanked his glasses off his nose, "Yup that's worse." He shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose fiercely.

"Doctor?"

"Here," He handed her the sonic screwdriver, "Hold this a minute."

"Signor?" Francesca walked up to them tentatively, Casanova in tow, keeping a wary eye on the immobilized droids, "I... I want to thank you for saving my life."

"Well," The Doctor looked up and shrugged, "Thanks for screaming."

Francesca nodded uncertainly, but was looking past him now at the clockwork droids, "What are those things?"

"Machines," The Doctor explained. "Of a sort..."

"And they've been stopped now, Doctor?" Casanova chuckled uneasily, "By beer?"

"Some people just can't hold their liquor," The Time Lord quipped.

"Or some _androids_," Martha smirked.

"Doctor?" Francesca interrupted, "I think... I think the machines have begun to tick again."

"Tick?"

Martha looked at the unmasked droid next to her. Underneath the vague hum of the brewery, she began to hear it; like the ticking of a large clock, and then four large clocks.

"Doctor?" she urged, " I think they're starting to sober up..."

He leaned in closer as Francesca and Casanova took a wary step back, "Setting 23B, Martha."

She adjusted the sonic screwdriver and handed it quickly back to him. The Doctor used it on three of the droids who fell over with a heavy clang. He handed it back to her again.

"Setting 12."

She took it, flipped the setting, and passed it to him.

The Doctor took aim at the final clockwork droid, which twitched spastically a few times, before its gears clattered to life again and its circular saw, whirred experimentally a few times. However, it didn't advance on them and The Doctor stowed the sonic.

'Well, fancy meeting you here eh?" The Time Lord crossed his arms addressing the immobilized android, "I thought you lot were all deactivated."

The Android clunked upright, and Martha swore, if it had eyes... it would be looking right at her...

* * *

><p><em>C'est tout for now. Thanks ever so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed, laughed, snickered, sat on the edge of your chair, or at least put off doing something school or work related to enjoy this. R&amp;R if it catches your fancy.<em>


	4. The Hunting

_Hello again lovely readers. A quiet week at work = so much more time to write. So enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I own none of the Doctor Who franchise, nor am I making any money here, unless you count the minimum wage my boss is paying me to leave my laptop from time to time and serve customers._

**THE HUNTING **

"I'd ask you to identify yourself," The Doctor told the immobilized android shrugging, but I already know you're a repair droid. So let's skip ahead to the bonus round shall we? What ship are you from?"

Gears whirred and the ticking changed cadence, but the robotic creature didn't answer.

"Okay, then what are you doing here?" Martha asked risking a step closer to it.

The clockwork droid looked (as much as things without faces can look) from The Doctor to Martha.

"Incompatible," it stated flatly.

"What? ...What do you mean ... 'incompatible'?"

The Doctor put a hand on her shoulder, but the way he listed a little unsteadily told her it was more for his support than hers, "It means with its ship. Isn't that right?"

The droid didn't answer.

"Its ship?" Casanova asked incredulously, "Are these some kind of... nautical machines... something for manning a sailing vessel? ..."

"Welllll..."The Doctor paused. "Actually that's pretty close. They're meant to be crew members at any rate; specializing in repairs... scavenging parts... that sort of thing."

"Parts?..." a pretty grim and awful picture was just on the verge of forming in Martha's mind.

The droid turned its head jerkily in Casanova's direction.

"Compatible," it intoned.

"Compatible?" Francesca repeated fearfully.

More clicking and whirring accompanied a slight inclination of the head toward Francesca.

"Compatible."

Cassanova put an arm around Francesca who was trembling. "Tell us what you mean by this," he demanded.

The clockwork droid straightened up suddenly in full control of its formerly seemingly rusted over joints. But instead of unleashing its circular saw or advancing on them, it simply faced Casanova like an obedient soldier.

"Ship model T3X-7B349 is missing a trefoil adapter coil, ocular sonic graduator, ventricle fluctuation unit, and centralized processing unit centre. You are compatible." The droid paused, "But incomplete."

"It listened to you..." The Doctor marvelled. "Just like her...they listened to her too..." he murmured.

Frowning, Martha put an unobtrusive arm around his waist to take a little more of his increasingly unsteady weight.

"What do you mean by incomplete?" Casanova persisted.

"You are incomplete," The droid repeated.

"Oh, right..." The Doctor let out a quiet giddy laugh that seemed out of place enough for even Francesca and Casanova to look at him with a little concern. If there were eyes built into that smooth glass head of the droid's Martha was pretty sure it would have been staring at The Time Lord too.

"Happy Birthday! Welllll not yet technically, but you have a birthday _coming up_ don't you Signor Casanova?- No wait! Don't tell me! What year is this... 17... 17..." The Doctor frowned.

"1776," Francesca supplied.

"Right! January 1776 So... in... 2 days, that's January 3rd," he explained as if it was some impressive mathematical feat, "That's your 50th birthday!"

"Um... well, yes," Casanova muttered, possibly irritated because as a world-famous womanizer he didn't appreciate his oncoming old-age heralded, or possibly because The Doctor was drawing conclusions that no one else in the room seemed to be following the importance of at all.

"Brilliant!" The Doctor grinned glassily, "a 50 year old ship and a 50 year old brain!"

And with that, The Time Lord promptly fainted. Martha only just managed to catch him before he collided with the floor, lowering him more gently.

"_Bloody_ brilliant," she muttered, taking off her cloak to pillow his head against the cold floor.

"Is he alright?" Francesca asked kneeling next to her.

"Yeah," Martha sighed, "He's just... he'll be fine," she muttered, tired of trying to convince herself.

Casanova cleared his throat, "Um... ladies..."

The droids lying nearby chose this very convenient moment to start to tick again and try to get to their feet. The one still standing activated its saw again and started to advance on them. They seemed intent on Francesca.

Martha fumbled for the sonic screwdriver and Casanova rushed to put himself between the women, the unconscious Doctor, and the droids.

_What setting had she used before?..._

Hoping for the best, Martha chose a random one and aimed.

The saws began to whir _faster_.

Just then, there was a loud shout from the doors.

"Stop! In the name of The City watch!"

Everyone, including the droids, turned to look, and found Captain Batista, in plain clothes but with his rapier drawn, standing in the doorway.

One of the droids clanked forwards and sized him up.

"I am a Captain of the City Watch," Batista boomed, "And you men will throw down your weapons sirs or-"

Apparently the good captain had just noticed that one of the "men" had a head full of gears.

"What in God's name..."

"Incompatible," The Droid droned, then: "You will be processed."

It advanced and Batista lunged forward, ramming his rapier into the well dressed android. A few sparks flew, and it stopped, but only long enough for Batista to dart out of the way when the droid, still with a rapier embedded in the circuitry of its chest, lunged for him.

"Come on..." Martha pleaded with the uncooperative sonic screwdriver, as the droids backed them into a corner and herded Batista towards them as well.

Suddenly, there was a light fizzing sound in the air, and six or seven more clockwork attackers materialized out of thin air.

In sheer desperation at this point, Martha pressed buttons at random and tried again. No effect.

"Doctor!" she pleaded with the unconscious alien. "I need you! I need you to wake up!"

More fizzes, punctuated the appearance of five or six more droids and Martha found herself wondering how her family would ever find out what had happened to her if she met her untimely end stuck in 18th century Venice, when The Doctor suddenly sat up and grabbed the sonic screwdriver from her and aimed it at the materializing droids. The effect was immediate. Had she ever heard the sound of a can of coke being opened in reverse, Martha would have said that was the noise the droids disappeared with. All except for the lone clockwork droid they'd been questioning before, the same one Batista had skewered. It simply fell over.

The Doctor looked down at the sonic screwdriver in his hand, genuinely surprised, "It reversed the polarity of the teleport..."

"What... what the bloody hell does that mean?" Batista asked shakily, and what were those... things?"

The Doctor was still blinking at his sonic screwdriver as if he hadn't heard.

The captain looked at Francesca and Casanova, "Lady Valeri, are you hurt?"

"No, cousin; thank you," Francesca said dusting herself off and straightening her dress,

"Cousin?!" Casanova looked from Francesca to Batista.

"Yes," he said, taking a protective step towards Francesca, "Her parents, my aunt and uncle, asked that I seek her out when it was found she was missing this morning. They feared she'd been taken by the attackers from the ball last night, but as I suspected, it was more likely she'd been lured away-"

"That's unfair..." complained Francesca.

"-by a certain undesirable gentleman of ill-repute."

"Doubly unfair," Casanova muttered.

Francesca crossed her arms indignantly, "I agreed to meet Giacomo here!"

"I find it disturbing that on two occasions," Batista continued, "involving these masked menaces, that I find you, Signor Casanova, at the scene."

"What are you implying sir?" Casanova asked voice smooth, but dangerously low.

"Excuse me!" Martha broke in exasperated, "I'm really sympathetic to... whatever's going on here... family quarrels, forbidden love and whatever else, but don't you think we have bigger problems?"

The three Venetians stopped to look at her where she stood, supporting The Doctor, who'd made it back to his feet, but was standing at this point, only with the help of his arm slung across Martha's shoulders.

"We're standing in a place that seconds ago was full of killer robots," she pointed out, "Does no one else think maybe we should find a safer place to talk about all this?"

"Robots?" Batista repeated.

"Androids. Clockwork droids..." The Doctor muttered faintly.

"Okay," she placated the sick Time Lord."Things that want to- "Martha sighed. She was pretty sure she was starting to put two and two together here but wasn't so sure she wanted to tell Batista or the other two just yet, "hurt us. I'm saying we should leave before those things come back."

In the end, they agreed to hire two gondolas: one to take Batista and Francesca back to her parent's manor, and the other to take Martha, Casanova, and The Doctor back to 'their accommodations' (The TARDIS). It occurred to Martha that showing Casanova the TARDIS, explaining any of this to him, might change history in some... non-specific but potentially-bad way, but all things considered, she wasn't sure she was up to saving the world with an out of commission Doctor and no help. Also, after the droids had taken such an interest in him, The TARDIS seemed like the safest place for Casanova... probably much safer than letting him go with Francesca back to her parents. So after piling the semi-alert Time Lord and the apparently de-activated clockwork droid into a gondola (at The Doctor's insistence), she'd told Casanova to come along.

When she first started travelling with The Doctor, she'd been afraid that to so much as step on the wrong bug could reverse history or put a big hole in time and space, until he'd explained it didn't quite work like that. The Time Lord had gone on to say something about space and time and physics that had for the most part gone over head, but it'd calmed her down enough to stop her worrying that she'd find the destruction of an entire alien evolutionary chain stuck to the bottom of her shoe every time they visited a new planet. Then again, there were some things you couldn't muck about with he'd told her; certain things in history were fixed points. She'd taken it for granted that The Doctor would warn her if she was about to cross any of those invisible lines, but at the moment, she had to rely on her ability to make it up as she went along, because The Time Lord's condition was definitely deteriorating.

As they skimmed along the now more populated canals of Venice, the aforementioned alien had apparently dozed off against her shoulder, her cloak wrapped around both of them. Trying not to disturb him too much, she discreetly checked his pulse and laid the back of her hand against his cheek to gauge his temperature. She noticed Casanova watching her with a look that was a little too knowing for her taste and she turned to look out at the passing scenery instead.

"Here," Martha told the gondolier as they drifted up beside the dock closest to the palace.

Casanova looked up, "I thought we were going back to the inn you are staying at Miss Jones..."

"It's kind of... um complicated," she told him, giving The Doctor a quick shake to rouse him. "Doctor."

The Time Lord blinked owlishly at her for a few seconds before giving her a small smile, "Hullo Martha Jones."

"We're back at the palace," she told him quietly, "and The TARDIS."

Casanova paid the gondolier and between him and Martha they managed to drag the clockwork droid ashore, wrapped in a canvas tarp, and help The Doctor on to dry land. With the assistance of a gardener's wheelbarrow, Casanova offered to transport the deactivated droid to the "doctors of the gendarmerie's mysterious accommodations'. Martha and The Doctor walked ahead a little, the alien now moving a bit more under his own steam but looking decidedly like death warmed over.

"We're almost there," she reassured him, and admittedly herself as they trekked across the expansive courtyard in search of the nook where they'd left The TARDIS. "We'll find something to help sort you out there , yeah?"

The Doctor gave her a wan nod but didn't say anything.

"So..." Martha glanced back at Casanova but the man looked lost in his own thoughts. "These droid things... when you say they're looking for parts for repairs... and they're taking people's... parts... it's for their ship isn't it? They're... they're using people for spare parts somehow..."

The Doctor looked up from the determined way he was watching his own feet and at Martha with genuine fondness, "You're a star Martha Jones," he said softly, "Very smart; always said so."

"And you've come across them before with," she hesitated, "with Rose?"

The Time Lord stopped suddenly and shut his eyes, putting his hand out to catch himself on a nearby garden wall.

"Doctor?"

He smiled faintly to himself, "I snogged Madame de Pompadour."

Martha frowned, "Um Doctor..."

"Yup," he grimaced, righting himself, " me n' the clockwork droids we go way back. But something's different this time. Can't put a finger on it but..."

They came to a familiar fountain and Martha breathed a sigh of relief. If she remembered right, The TARDIS was just around the corner next to-

The Doctor stopped so abruptly she just about walked right in to him.

At first she couldn't make sense of what she was seeing.

"No..." The Time Lord breathed, "Oh no."

Casanova rounded the bend and stopped behind them, "What's the matter my friends?"

"It's gone," Martha whispered, "How's that even possible?"

Where The TARDIS should have been, there was nothing but empty courtyard.

_DWDWDWDWDW_

_Thanks for reading :)_

_And my muse is always happy to snack on your reviews_


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